The Alphabet of Love
by Cerulea
Summary: This is a drabble-centric writing experiment in which every chapter is based on a word that starts with a letter of the alphabet, sequentially. Every chapter will be an exploration of the Dean/Cas relationship, inspiration coming from whatever word springs to my mind first. (A creative distraction from the ridiculously long and dark fic I am currently still working on...)
1. A

_Ok, this is really ambitious, so you are not allowed to hate me when I fuck it up! I want to do a formless, drabble-centric, alphabet fic. A chapter a letter. __Every chapter is short, and centered around whatever word that I pick for the letter. A writing exercise - think of a single word and run with it. So this may unwittingly tell you way too much about my psyche, as it is also like word association. God help me..._

_I speak English (just to clarify, you know, in case there was any doubt), so there'll be 26 chapters. (Holy crap.) I am setting my mind to not flaking out and posting regularly, as in every few days, if not daily. Wish me luck._

_Ok, A..._

_Anaximander!_

_...oh god, it's already starting..._

* * *

The alphabet of love.

April

It's april the first time Cas kisses him. Usually Dean initiates, but this time he doesn't. Cas does. And it feels as refreshing and natural as the cool rain sliding down his forehead and the back of his neck, making him shiver. Cas reaches forward, bringing Dean to him easily, as though he's done it a million times, by a hand behind Dean's neck. It is seamless, it works - but Dean can still feel the angel's nerves. Like he isn't sure if it's ok. And Dean wants him to know, for sure, that it is. So he opens his lips against Castiel and deepens the kiss.

It's all he can do to keep from thanking the universe out loud for the shitty weather, because the chilling drizzle feels like the only thing keeping his unbelievably hot skin from combusting into flame as Cas backs him up against the car a little roughly.

Dean will never think of _April Showers_ the same way again.


	2. B

Bacon

Dean introduced Castiel to bacon. Frankly, Dean is shocked - thousands of years of accessibility to earth, and he's never bothered to try it. It is an amazing thing to behold, an angel of the Lord stopping mid-sentence to stalk over to the frying pan and pluck out a piece of frying pork. Castiel is completely derailed by a simple breakfast meat, and it is hilarious. Dean never gets tired of watching Cas marvel at the salty, greasy goodness of it, licking his fingers afterward. He tells Dean that it makes certain brothers of his, namely Gabriel and Balthazar, make sense to him - _indulgence was key for them_, he says. And Cas tries to be careful about his indulgence, but Dean eggs him on. He likes the look on Cas' face when he's chewing, like he worries bacon might've changed since he last tried it, like he figured it would change for the worse, and he is pleasantly surprised every time to find that it is still awesome.

Castiel makes breakfast amusing.

* * *

_Clearly, it is breakfast time where I am._


	3. C

Carpet

It's new. It still has that plasticy, freshly woven, just-came-home-from-the-store smell. The fibers are still springy and eager to stand straight, not yet beaten down by foot-traffic and heavy furniture.

Dean likes the smell. It feels clean, like a new start. Of course, it isn't _his_ new start... It's some young couple's from Des Moines... but what the Hell. It still gives him a good feeling - even if the texture of the fibers rubbing against the side of his face is going to leave him burnt.

He knows he should bring his arm up, lay his forehead in the crook of his elbow to save his face the beating, he even likes the idea of the minuscule yarn-like carpet threads brushing against the soft, naked underside of his forearm. But he is just so fucking comfortable, too lazily fucked-out, every muscle soft and hot and _heavy_... he'd rather just lay there.

That's not to say that he always does - just lay there. He is usually a very _active_ participant. He prides himself on it, in fact.

Usually.

But Castiel's had his way with him in every possible fashion. And Dean is, at this point, just reveling in Castiel lavishing so much attention on him that he's going to be sore for days.

Cas must be getting tired too, or maybe just too worked up, because he spreads Dean's knees a little farther and rests a good amount of his weight against the man's body. And Dean does feel a little bad for the nice, suburban couple and their formerly virgin carpet, that will now forever (even if not visibly) have four knee-shaped depressions. Especially now that Cas is heavy on top of him, rocking him, his knees grinding into the fibers making his skin burn.

He smirks into the carpet, his eyes closed, as he thinks about how fucked he is going to be every time he walks into a new house, or a home depot, and smells that new carpet smell and gets an instant nostalgia-boner.

* * *

_Well, that change in rating didn't take long._

_Like I could ever write something that stayed a K+._


	4. D

Dogma

Dean supposes there have been a million religions before the ones we know today. He supposes some of them even had their own names for Cas. Well, maybe not him in particular... But his kind. Either malevolent or benevolent, somebody must've heard something. People always have their beliefs. Their systems. Their doctrines, that help them trudge through the sludge and misfortune of everyday life. That makes them hope that things are gonna stay good, once they get good. It's a basic need, religion.

Cas has his beliefs too. He's got his system. He struggles with it, but Dean knows that no matter where Castiel's loyalties lie on the field of battle, he's got his own structured principles that stand the undercurrent of his past mistakes and constant doubt. It's something that Dean can respect. He knws how hard it is to hold onto yourself when everything is flying apart in a cyclone around you.

Dean only has one system of belief, and it has three basic principles:

Family above all.

The good of all before what's good for himself.

Love and Castiel - mutually exclusive.

If he were asked outright what principles he lived by, he'd leave the third one out. That's just for him to know. But he'd say it in his head. Because as far as Dean can see, Castiel is the only thing worth praying to. He's the only solid belief that is consistent and reliable. Castiel is the primary basis Dean builds his entire ideology of love on.

He is a cautionary tale, a heroic journey, an unfinished story - imperfection and constant striving, beauty both lovely and terrible. Cas is a lot of things that make sense to Dean. He is, in a lot of ways, the epitome of what Dean believes.

And he wouldn't worship anything else.


	5. E

Empty

Who puts an empty milk carton back in the fridge?

His damn brother, that's who. A a passive-aggressive way of saying - _Hey, remember when I told you three days ago that it was your turn to get groceries and you didn't?_

Dean throws the carton into the trash with a little more spite than the object deserves. But he can't help it, he's frustrated.

The milk is empty. Naturally.

Just like is _bed_ is empty.

Because his fucking boyf- his _angel_, is out doing God knows what with God knows who, probably getting himself killed and biting off more than he can chew, like always. And Dean loathes the restless feeling that comes with Castiel being gone. He despises knowing that in all honesty, he can't keep up. Not with angels.

He kicks the trashcan hatefully on his way by - just a little tap really, to keep the thing in its place. Then he collapses onto his bed.

His _empty_ bed. With cold sheets that have the ever-fading scent of blue-eyed, dark-haired, stoic, moon-skinned angel sweated into their fibers. Dean sighs.

Whatever. He wasn't really thirsty anyway.


	6. F

Filter

It's like this - Cas doesn't have one.

Usually it's Dean making Sam roll his eyes because apparently he'll say anything to anyone. Because he's got guts and he's mouthy and he ain't afraid of no one. So his filter is more... optional. Because he doesn't have time for anybody's bullshit, and sometimes an ill placed raunchy joke makes him feel particularly amused.

But it's different with Cas. Because he'll _really_ say _anything_. Dean still has his boundaries, despite his occasional vulgarity. He uses his filter for emotional thoughts, deep meandering musings, and anything that reflects back on himself. Because despite trying to look like nothing can scare him and nothing can make him feel awkward, there is a whole lot that can. And nothing cuts through those defenses of social propriety, nothing cuts through _him_, like Cas. Filterless and unapologetic.

His blatant nature is disruptive to Dean's calm.

It makes him feel naked and small and turned inside out, like some sort of adrenaline rush that he likes even though it hurts. Like when Castiel looks at him and tells him, instead of asking him, that he is not sleeping well, and then tops it off with a cherry like telling him how tired and worn-down he looks. Cas will tell him he drinks too much. Cas will tell him that he is being obstinate. Cas will tell him everything he doesn't understand, in the moment he doesn't understand it. Why wait? He doesn't care where they are, and he doesn't care about looking stupid. And Cas will say things that shake Dean's bones and shiver his skin with honesty, like when he presses up to Dean's back lightly, and whispers into his hair that he is going to come inside him. And that he is going to make Dean come, screaming. Or sometimes, when Castiel holds him tightly, and tells him things that grown men that aren't in a fucking Nicholas Sparks novel just don't fucking say... like how he told Dean that he is his only true happiness. How he doesn't censor himself when he wants to nuzzle into Dean's hair or neck, and he tells him that he'll love him until the world is gone. And Dean swallows hard, staring forward but seeing nothing, because he can't focus, because he's not the kind of guy who's good at hearing that. And he's not the kind of guy who has words to give back. But Cas says it anyway. Because he doesn't know how not to.

Though Dean says that _people don't talk like that_, _you don't just say that_, or _jeez Cas, leave a man some dignity_... he wouldn't have him any other way. He hopes he never changes. A filtered Cas just wouldn't be Cas.


	7. G

Guesswork

What Castiel knows, what he has seen in his life, is an infinite cosmic mindfuck to Dean.

He was there when the first fish flopped out of the water and ventured onto land... Fucking _really_?

Castiel saw the evolution of man, from a single-celled organism to this walking, talking, loving, hating, killing, creating _thing_ that drinks coffee and wears blue jeans and _somehow_, occasionally believes in things like him.

It's enough to blow Dean's mind every time he considers that Cas probably saw Jesus. Moses. Muhammed. Buddha. Romans and Greeks and Vikings and the first Chinese Emperor and Braveheart. All the other important and unimportant ones. He probably saw the guy who invented the wheel and made a quiet _hmm_ for his adorable cleverness. He must have seen Michaelangelo, DaVinci, Einstein and Tesla and Shakespeare and the guy who first thought up chairs. Important people who history forgot or who Dean just hasn't heard of. All those people. Everyone.

And Dean is the one he finds interesting.

He can't understand that. It puts pressure on him, because he feels overwhelmingly like he can't let him down, and like maybe Cas sees something special in him that isn't really there. Which worries him, because he doesn't want Cas to realize that he isn't as smart as Tesla. He can't make anything beautiful, like Michaelangelo.

How can you understand someone who's seen all that? How can you be on the same level as someone who can rain fire from Heaven, and cure with a touch and has millions of years of backstory?

Dean can only guess what happens in Castiel's brilliant, inhuman mind. He spends his entire days guessing what Castiel is thinking, and praying that every once and awhile at least, he gets it right. Because he so desperately wants to know Cas better than anyone.

So he'll keep guessing and guessing until he's got all the right answers. Even if it takes forever.


	8. H

Hot

Dean is used to sweltering heat. The Impala's AC has been on the fritz since he was nine. And the motels they bunker down in are usually less than swanky. Even if they offer air conditioning, it's more than likely going to be a case of Sam crouched over the unit for an hour with a screwdriver trying to work his magic.

He's spent summer days in Texas, New Mexico, and Louisiana. And it gets damn hot. But Dean is mostly used to it.

What he is not yet used to, and he doesn't think he ever will be, is the heat that prickles his skin when Cas has got ahold of him. There's a kind of fiery flaring-up that happens, when he's been on the edge for too long, and his chest is flushed, his throat and face going red.

The room is a steambox, the mirrors and windows fogging, their skin is hot to the touch and sticky, Castiel's scalp is wet and Dean loves the way his hair will stand up when he runs his hand through it. Dean's hands slip against Castiel's skin, his hips, his thighs, and their skin slides together wherever it meets - the soft insides of Castiel's thighs against Dean's waist; the tops of Dean's thighs and the press of his hips against Castiel's backside.

He likes when he can feel sweat drip down the valley of his back, because he knows he's working hard. And as Castiel's porcelain face flushes pink, he knows his work is paying off.

There was only one time when Dean ever said that it was literally _too hot to fuck_. But Castiel would have none of it. And frankly Dean is glad. Because going at it when it feels hot enough to pass out from _minimal_ exertion, is like a challenge. It leaves them molten and heavy and totally drained. And they lay there and let the sweat dry, if it can in that humidity. They let the meager ceiling fan try to cool their burning skin.

Dean gives a lazy, utterly pleased _Whew_, as his eyes close and a crooked smile rests on his face. Because, _Damn, it's hot_.


	9. I

Idiot

There's only so much fucking insult a guy can take before someone has to get punched. And Bobby thinking he was being a dumbass, that was par for the course. And it was an endearment more than an insult, Dean can see that. Demons thinking he's a moron because he didn't see their evil plan coming, that's severely irritating, but commonplace. Monsters thinking he's too dim to catch up, that's insulting, but a tactical advantage. But Sam thinking he's smarter than him, thinking that Dean is the weak link, that Dean is so blatantly not the brains of the operation...

Well... that's mostly projection. Because Dean knows Sam thinks he's smart. But still, sometimes he feels inadequate, like he has to prove himself but that he can't do it any other way than by being tougher, meaner, stronger, a better hunter. Because Sam got all the good stuff, he got all the brains. Sam blends in with "normal" people. But those are his issues, not Sam's. He knows his little brother doesn't think he's stupid. He even knows Sam wishes he would agree. But it's Dean's lifelong insecurity. And he thinks maybe it's his own fault, or maybe it was his Dad's. Letting Sam do homework while Dean had to clean guns. Letting Dean give up on school too early, letting him pretend like he didn't care about it. Letting Sam go to college, when Dean had the weight of their family's way of life on his shoulders.

Dean could've been smart too. He could've gone to college.

He likes Vonnegut and American History and he's good with mechanics. Maybe he could have been an engineer. Or an EMT - he's good under pressure and he's got no qualms with blood and guts. He could have passed those courses he bets. Maybe he could have written essays and stretched his mind and used, _correctly_, words that he now pretends not to know.

Maybe, just once, someone would look at _him_ and see the _smart one_... But it's not like that. And the only one who looks at him like his brain is complexly fascinating and his opinions are deep and valid, is Cas. And that's enough for this life. But he can't help but think sometimes, how it might've been if he'd had the chance, or the bravery, to be the nerd he probably totally is. Unfortunately, now he's got an image to uphold, and it's too late to start being clever now. And it feels sad, because it feels like something's being wasted.

So when Meg squints her eyes and tilts her head mockingly and says, "Great thinking, idiot," it hurts a little deeper than it should. It pokes a little sharper than it should. And Dean walks it off, pretending he doesn't care what that bitch thinks. But he does, for some fucked up reason. Because he knows that she's not the only one who thinks it.

And he's not a fucking idiot.


	10. J

Jerk

Cas can be a real jerk.

They are by no means a perfect duo. Sure there's love, sure there's friendship, sure there's sex like Dean's pretty sure even God never imagined... but they are not perfect. And there are times that Dean wants to fucking kill that feathery son of a bitch.

The word that comes to mind over and over is _unbelievable_. What an unbelievable fucking _jerk_.

After everything they've been through. After all the lessons Dean thought they'd learned, this asshole is still keeping things from him. Still going off to do top secret work that will inevitably blow up in their faces and Dean will find out about anyway.

And who picks a fight with a mortal when they have superhuman fucking powers? Of course he won the damn fight! He's a damn superman!

Dean slams his whisky down on the table. Sam gives him a familiar, raised-eyebrow, forehead-crinkled look from behind his shoulder, where he is stitching up the sizable gash that Dean received when Castiel the fucking jerk slammed him back into the mirror.

Granted, Dean had tackled him, punched him, and thrown around some very choice words that he had known better than to use. And now that it's over, he can see a little more clearly how... that whole thing was, kind of, sort of, maybe... his fault.

That jerk just makes him so... so... so fucking angry! And maybe tackling him and kneeing him in the balls wasn't the most mature way to handle his obvious deception, and condescending tone, but Dean can't help himself sometimes when the angel is being such a...

He sighs heavily, feeling Sam finishing up, knowing all his good work is tantamount to worthless practice because as soon as Cas cools off and swoops back in, he'll make it right with a wink. He'll heal whatever damage he's done, despite how angry he still is at Dean's brutish, infuriating behavior. Which Dean appreciates. Though there's no fucking way he's saying sorry!

Dean knows, though he hates to admit it, that he's a jerk too. So he imagines they probably deserve each other.


	11. K

Kiss

Dean's kissed a lot of women in his life. He's had quite a few stellar ones. Movie-magic kind of kisses, with perfect build and accentuated romance and just enough tongue to keep it feisty.

But no one kisses him like Cas.

He doesn't just kiss, he _owns_. And Dean would never have thought that he wanted to be owned. He's an own_er_ - he likes to take control. He likes to be the impressive one. He likes the kiss-ee to be putty in his hands. And sure, there have been a few foxy ladies who have taken control, and sure, he liked that. But when they got down to it, he was always the man.

Problem is, now Cas is the owner. Not that it's a problem at all, it's just... it throws Dean for a loop every time. Because Castiel gets his way. Always. Maybe after spending a millennium or so the staunchest of virgins he's got a lot pent up, but Dean has never seen someone so inexperienced take to kissing quite as fiercely as Castiel. He moves Dean where he wants him to be. He holds him exactly as tightly as he wants to. He opens his lips and plunders his mouth with his tongue as soon and as deeply as he wants and he never apologizes.

And Dean kind of likes that side of him... all take.

That isn't to say Cas doesn't give. Sometimes he kisses Dean like he's trying to put him to sleep - slow and deep and soft. And Dean realizes his eyes have been closed for a really long time, that his hands are limp and relaxed against Castiel's shoulders, or arms, that he's working on this deliciously brainless autopilot and letting his mind go blank so that all that he feels is Cas' lips, and Cas' body touching his own.

Cas makes all of those other kisses before his seem like a different act entirely, as though as much as Dean was Cas' first real kiss, Cas was his as well.

Because no one ever kissed him like Cas.


	12. L

_Predictable, but hey. What can I do? It was the first thing that popped up. _

_Thanks for Reviewing, you lovely salamanders! __(Idk why "salamanders"... __Don't question me!)_

* * *

Love

Ugh, God. _Love_.

What is it, really? It's gross. It's all smooches and calling each other _babe_ and crying at _The Notebook_ and coupling up to the point where you don't do anything without each other - which is fucking annoying.

Love is sappiness and having the wool pulled over your eyes. Love is delusion.

Love, is a _word_. And Dean hates it.

It's a stupid word. It doesn't mean anything. He could tell Cas he loves him, but what would that mean really? _By conventional methods I find that I feel things for you and therefore am prepared to make sweet ridiculous love to you and adopt a rescue-dog together and give you a key to my seventh story walk-up. Congratulations. You win. _

Right, cause Dean's that kind of guy.

So if _love_ has stupid connotations and they don't feel right, or enough, then what is he supposed to say? Because he's starting to feel like he's at that point. He _is_ at that point. Something needs to be said, it's an inherent need. A step in this stupid dance called relationships. But he doesn't want it to be false. Because Cas is the realest thing he's had. And because he _does_, for lack of a better word, love him. But how can he finally say it, say everything, and make it ring true? How can you put words on this feeling that he knows people use that four-letter nightmare of a word for?

In the end he just kisses him, nervously but fiercely, and lays him out on the bed and makes it as good as he can. As special and perfect as he knows how - which feels nerve-wrackingly lovey-dovey enough. And after, when their breathing is evening out and they're pressed close and the need to finally_ just friggin' say it_ is hanging between them and he knows Cas can't see his face, he tells him, because there _is_ no other word, that he loves him.

And Cas is silent and motionless for a long moment, before he tells Dean that he loves him as well, but didn't know how to say it.

And how stupid is that? Because now that they've said it, it feels like a no-brainer. It really does make you stupid - that's love.


	13. M

Metronome

Dean's brain is counting the moments of silence between them as clearly and as loudly as a metronome clicking away inside his brain. And it is making him crazy. He hates this. The quiet. The even, constant _beep beep beep_ of the machines. Keeping time as a life hangs in limbo right there. Dean gets this irrational feeling sometimes, like now the person's life is dependent on the beeping, as opposed to the other way around. And he wills that next beep to come, even though he hates the sound.

Castiel is glancing at him every now and again, with regret.

He should be able to fix this, and he knows it. It's making him feel guilty - he doesn't have to say so, Dean can feel it from across the room.

Dean knows the only way to power him up now, faster than the laws of Heavenly nature (if there be such a thing) allow, is to let Cas touch a human soul. Most likely his. Castiel offers the option, in shame, hating the idea of it, but knowing that he can be of no use to the healing process until his power returns.

Dean appreciates the gesture. He knows how painful it is for Castiel to even suggest such a thing after... after everything. But Dean can't ask that of him, not while there's still hope from modern medicine.

So they sit, and they wait, and the seconds tick by, syncopated with the monitors with a maddening evenness.


	14. N

Novice

Being new to something does not necessarily equate to being unskilled at it.

The first time Dean went shooting, he hit every bottle. He can still remember how proud his dad was, how much he smiled as though Dean was impressive. Dean still holds onto that feeling. It's nice to be good at things. Which is why it's scary to try new things.

What if you're no good at it? What if you suck? It's embarrassing. That's what makes Dean hesitant.

But Cas doesn't seem to have that problem, Dean notices. He approaches every new thing with a clinical appraisal and a surprising passion that Dean did not expect from the stoic soldier. He seems to simply believe, without doubt, that he can and will excel at anything he puts his mind to if he is allowed the practice. It is this mentality, and un-reproachable work ethic, that has him on his knees between Dean's thighs five days in a row.

He intends to conquer this challenge. And though Dean tells him on day one that any way he goes about it will probably do the trick, Castiel aspires to true skill. And Dean cannot help but feel like maybe he's having some sort of extremely vivid wet dream... because the whole dynamic is truly the stuff of fantasy.

Castiel teaches Dean, over the course of one extremely pleasurable week, that all it takes to go from novice to expert is a little courage.


	15. O

Open

"Open up."

There are a thousand ways every day that Castiel asks Dean to open up. Some ways Dean is more receptive to, and some he shies away from.

There is the touch of his tongue to Dean's lips, asking for entrance to his mouth. This Dean grants almost instantly every time, unless he wants to tease him for a bit.

There is slipping open of buttons. The popping of snaps. The loosing of the button on the top of his jeans and the sliding open of metal zipperteeth.

There is the gentle push at the insides of Dean's knees, imploring him to part them wide enough for Castiel to rest between.

And then there's... down there. Dean didn't think that was ever in the cards for him. He never wanted it... before. And he's not as courageous as he likes to think. Because Castiel is hot and panting and already dripping, Dean can see it bobbing there between his legs. It looks red, and angry and... big. And he thought he could do this but he can't. Because he's... he's fucking terrified.

In an instant everything closes to Castiel faster than he can blink.

But he isn't upset. He isn't even thrown off. He moves out from between Dean's shaking legs, pulling his knees back together for him, and Dean feels instantly more at ease. And Cas moves to lay beside him, his upper body draped over Dean's, and kisses him, stroking them both until they're done.

...

It takes awhile for Dean to be able to let go enough to let Cas touch him down there. But when he finally does, Cas opens him slowly and carefully and to Dean's great surprise doesn't even fuck him. He just slips his fingers in until he finds something that makes Dean's hips buck and his eyes snap closed. And Castiel kisses him and touches that place until Dean is begging for release, almost able to get it without being touched.

...

The first time he really lets Cas inside him the angel reaches up and holds Dean's face in his hands and says, "Open."

Dean's eyes are squeezed closed from the onslaught of pressure, but he opens them when Cas asks, and Cas looks at him in a way that makes Dean's insides flip around. He doesn't know what the angel sees, but he hopes it's good. It seems to be, because a moment later they're kissing and Dean's already about to loose it.

...

Castiel talks to him in his uniquely frank way, and it makes Dean feel ok about saying things he usually wouldn't. He tells Cas how he really feels about his life, about the pressure of knowing one mistake costs lives - someone's mother, someone's child, some other little boy's Sammy. And when Castiel talks back, about his own pressures, about his own doubts and fears, Dean can feel the wrought iron gates he's built around himself start to creak open.


	16. P

_Two in one day - I'm on fire! This might be my favorite..._

* * *

Prison

Being in the clink seems to suit Castiel in a thoroughly disturbing manner.

Guys seem to take him as an easy mark at first. Pretty. Slight. Overly literal. Totally unguarded and unafraid. He turns his blue eyes on anyone - he's never the first to blink. And Dean is worried that somebody's going to hurt him, that somebody's gonna dare to touch him. So he tries to send out the _touch him and you fucking die_ vibe.

But as it turns out, despite his lack of angel mojo at this point in time, against mere mortal men Castiel is still as deadly as ever. Anyone who comes at him is swiftly dispatched, calmly and easily. He fights like a soldier whose been training for a hundred years and seen everything. Because, well, he has. And Dean can't help but be impressed by the instant reputation Castiel has built for himself as a no-nonsense kind of guy.

He's sort of a badass.

Seven gang members in the infirmary weeping like little girls, in one day, seems to earn even the prettiest of prisoners a good deal of respect. Dean never thought that he'd be some other badass' untouchable arm candy, but it seems that Castiel's affinity for Dean is putting him in a safe zone. It's bizarre.

Dean feels weirdly proud of him.


	17. Q

Quit

The awful thing about dating an angel is their ability to manipulate matter. Dean buys a bottle, Castiel turns it into a banana. Dean goes to the bar, every shot Dean takes turns to milk in his mouth. Dean goes for the hidden flask, and finds it bone-dry, or full of sand. It is infuriating to Dean, who just wants a friggin' drink. It's not that he _needs_ it, he just... wants it. It's a habit, not a fucking addiction. It just relaxes him. And he's a grown man who can drink all the goddamn much that he wants.

But Castiel has been telling him again and again that he drinks too much. And last night, he told Dean to quit.

There was no suggestion. No _I think you should think about it_. Just _You are not going to drink anymore_. And he was dead serious, in that makes-you-shiver, Heaven's-wrath way.

Of course, Dean laughed him off. He was buzzed at the time. And there was no fucking way that was gonna happen.

Castiel did not laugh. He seemed unsurprised, but still angry. And then he disappeared.

So Dean tipped his cup of whiskey to the ceiling like a smartass and carried on about his business.

Now Dean is marveling and livid about how much fucking time he's wasted trying to successfully have a drink today. He's surprised how much he's driven around to look for liquor, how frenzied and furious he becomes when at every new bar or liquor store, he meets the same resistance.

...

Maybe he does _need_ a drink. Dean ignores it as best he can. As always, his life gets chaotic on a dime, and he doesn't have time to think about it anyway. But there's a constant itch, like a craving, that puts him on edge and has him distracted and snapping at his brother. He ignores it. If he ignores it, it'll go away.

...

Sam is talking to him, but he's not hearing anything. He can't focus. He's got a splitting headache and he feels terrible. Like the worst hangover of his life, only tripled. Sicker than he's been in years. His hands have been shaking since yesterday. His body feels weak, and he has to close his eyes and count sometimes to keep from throwing up - which doesn't make any sense because he hasn't had any appetite and hasn't eaten. He's fucking dizzy and hot and he never gets sick, but whatever he's got now is putting him through the ringer. He's actually worried he might collapse.

A waitress walks by with a couple of beers on her tray and Dean suddenly realizes what's wrong with him.

It's been two and a half days since his last drink. And he feels like he's _dying_ because of it? The realization startles him to his core.

...

Later, in his room, Dean calls to Cas. Cas comes, naturally, looking stoic and solid and utterly ready for a fight. But he doesn't get one. Dean is sitting on the edge of the bed, looking scared. His trembling hands are folded together between his knees. His body is shaky and he looks pale and clammy and strangely frail. Cas can see the sweat on his brow, can sense that Dean's been throwing up.

Castiel knew such things would happen, and he knew he had to let them happen. But it doesn't make it any easier to see.

"I didn't realize..." Dean starts, his voice shaking. "I know that sounds stupid," he sounds ashamed, he's looking down at the floor. "I didn't realize what was happening."

Castiel knows it. Dean's been drinking since he was a very young person. It was as natural as having breakfast. Moreso. Castiel knew he didn't know he needed to stop.

Now he knows.

Castiel comes forward and sits down beside him on the bed. He doesn't say anything, doesn't preach or say that it's good Dean finally sees what he has been trying to tell him all along. He just sits there with him and lets it sink in. And then stays through the night, holding Dean through the shakes, and rubbing his back when he feels sick to his stomach.

As much as he'd love to, Cas knows he can't magic this one away. Dean's got to feel this, to know how important it is. To know what he's been putting his body through.

Cas wants him to have the pride of quitting on his own.


	18. R

Rebel Rouser Rock n Roll

Castiel has no appreciation for good music. Specifically, he has no understanding of rock and roll, in any sense.

This, of course, cannot stand.

When Castiel tells Dean that Rock and Roll does little for him, that its simplicity is underwhelming, and that he prefers something with a little more intelligence and nuance to its structure, like Rachmaninoff, Dean stares, then snaps his jaw shut, then walks away.

Castiel calls after him that his orchestrations are "Inspired."

Dean waves a hand angrily, not turning back, and stalks away.

There's no point in arguing with Cas. You can't _analyze_ Rock. You have to _feel_ it.

So while he is steaming-mad, Dean has an idea. Sure, Rachmaninoff is brilliant. Sure, choirs and violins and conductors in tailcoats is more refined and sure, maybe it can even evoke emotion and deep philosophical thought. But there's something in the attitude of a distorted electric guitar, a raucous less-than-artful drum arrangement, and a passionate, unrestrained vocal that is just as _powerful_. And Dean makes his point pretty clearly later, when he puts on AC/DC's "All Night Long", blasting it unrepentantly loud on loop, locks the door, and tears Cas' clothes off while he throws him onto the bed.

...

Cas has lost track of how many times the song has cycled back to the beginning. All he knows is, it never got old - it never stopped being fun and he never stopped wishing it would never end.

Dean smiles down at Cas, looking entirely pleased with himself, that infectious sparkle in his eye. The angel is flushed and panting and making an expression like his mind has been completely blown and he is way happy about it. And Dean says, with a mischievous smirk that is just so damn smug, "Rachmaninoff ever _inspire_ you to do _that_?"

Castiel has to concede.

He feels happy and reckless and sexy and free and suddenly, Rock and Roll makes a lot of sense to him. He gets it.

* * *

_A) Thanks so much for the awesome reviews!_

_B) Misha said once that the music that he thinks of when he thinks _Cas_ is Rachmaninoff (Vespers); and I, being the weirdo who can jam to both classic rock and Gregorian chants, had to give a laugh because that's just too perfect. If you've never heard of it, check it out. Try... "Troparia of the day of Salvation" (my favorite)._

___Close your eyes and listen - I feel like you can just _see_ Cas in Heaven._

_So that's where this chapter comes from._


	19. S

Sugar

Castiel orders a Watermelon Margarita with pink sugar on the rim.

Dean raises his eyebrows as the drink is set down on the table by a glittery waitress with gaged ears and a skin-tight t-shirt with a unicorn sliding down a rainbow on it. Castiel thanks her seriously and she gives a little chuckle for his awkwardness as she walks away.

Castiel examines the drink a moment before bringing it to his lips and sipping, considering its flavor very sincerely with a furrowed brow. By the gravelly little _Mm_ he makes, it appears to please him.

All Dean can think, is _thank God _they're staking out a potential killer in this gay club, otherwise Dean isn't sure what his response to that drink would have been. Granted, Dean is totally gay, he knows that. He's ok with that. And he's ok with other gay guys - it would be pretty hypocritical if he wasn't. Dick is awesome, he's come to terms with that. But there are certain gender roles, image things, staples of societal masculinity that he is not ready to bend on yet. And if they were in some rough and tumble dive bar, and he was sitting there with this pretty, angel-faced,_ obviously his boyfriend_ looking guy who was sipping on a pink drink with a sugared rim... Dean would be embarrassed. He'd feel like he was dying from the thought of all the critical eyes on him. He'd be nervous.

Not embarrassed of Cas, he loves Cas. He's not really sure why he'd be all nervous about it... But there's no use lying about it, and if they were anywhere else, he would be. He knows this much - in a Hunter bar, love is weakness. No matter who it's for.

So in some ways, being at this gay club makes him feel kind of... free. Seeing Cas suck a spot of the sugar from the rim of the Margarita glass, he can't deny how cute it is, which makes Dean realize that _free_ feeling. Because here, he doesn't have to hide how close to Cas he really is, how much he likes him. And he can smirk at him and sit close and kiss that wayward granule of sugar from his lips, pulling away with an _Mmm_, and a soft smile. Because no one will judge them for being who they are. No one will try and kick his ass for being who he is.

Cas won't be in danger just for wanting to try something new. He won't be in danger for loving him for it. And that _is_ sweet. Almost as sweet as Cas' lips after that drink.

And now Dean's getting all kinds of ideas about Cas and sugar...


	20. T

Tryptophan

Cas has never had Thanksgiving. He finds the whole idea of it reproachable. A day in which a culture revels in the spoils of having overrun and conquered an indigenous people. Dean tries to tell him that the holiday isn't really about that. But of course, Castiel levels at him a hard look that says, _I was there. Were __**you**__, Dean Winchester, present throughout the forming of the New World? Because I thoroughly doubt it._ And Dean shakes his head because he knows there'll be no changing his mind.

But he does manage to convince him to stay and have dinner.

Food is generally unspectacular to Castiel, though he often indulges Dean in partaking despite his apathy. But today it seems that Castiel has found something other than burgers and steak that tickles his fancy. Apparently, Castiel, angel of the Lord, has a fondness for all things Thanksgiving - including sweet potato casserole and cranberry sauce (the tartness of it seems to suit him). Cornbread near about blew his mind.

Dean can't blame him. Jodi makes a damn good spread. But it is funny to watch Castiel eat a turkey leg. Kind of jarring. Like watching the Queen of England go bowling or something.

Later Dean is stretched out over the couch like a fat cat on a sunny windowsill, and catches Cas subtly eyeing the little bit of his skin exposed by the riding-up of his t-shirt.

"Hey Cas," he asks with a smirk, "that tryptophan hittin' you yet?"

Castiel tilts his head in confusion.

"It's in the turkey. Makes you tired after you eat it. Makes you want to... lay down for awhile."

Cas looks down, considering, then answers honestly, "No, I don't believe so, Dean."

Dean smiles more widely, knowing the poor daft angel has no idea what he is trying to do.

"Cause if you were tired, we could go to bed..."

Castiel looks at him.

_Ding_, he gets it.

"You did eat a lot of turkey."

"Yes," Castiel states, overly evenly. His eyes glance around, to see if anyone suspects, and it is the least subtle thing Dean has ever seen. "Yes, I did. I am very... tired..."

Dean snorts a laugh as he gets up off the couch, pulling Cas with him.

"Where you two think you're going?" Jodi calls from the kitchen.

"Cas is tired," Dean offers a little too innocently, "I'm taking him to bed."

"Tryptophan," Cas states seriously, immediately looking to Dean in conspiratorial confirmation.

Jodi just shakes her head.

* * *

**...**

* * *

_This one's just for ChikieG - you were right. I already had the above in mind. But, what the heck. _

_(This was written in like three minutes before posting, so not my best work. But I hope it amuses you some!)_

Tickle

Sam puts a hand on his hip, voice raising in frustration over an argument about public displays of affection and inappropriately timed dirty talk he never in a million years he thought he was gonna have with _Dean and Cas_. "Look, I get that you're into each other and I'm glad you're happy. Really, I am," he sends a sincere look at his brother. "But I really don't need to imagine you two sucking face and cuddling and holding hands and having tickle-fights, ok. That's all I'm saying."

"We do not _cuddle_, and we definitely don't tickle each other!" Dean argues defensively.

He may love a man, but Dean wasn't about to let Sam make it sound all... _gay_. Sam simply rolls his eyes, knowing that Dean had completely missed the point. So he looks to Cas, hoping to find some understanding.

Cas tilts his head to the side, eyebrows furrowing. Sam makes a displeased expression. Dean sees it and sighs with irritation, "_What_?" He follows Sam's eyeline to Cas' face and knows immediately that his brother can read all over Cas' expression that Dean is lying. But does he just say _whatever_ agree to talk to Cas about what's just not appropriate to say in front of your lover's brother and move on? No. Because he's Dean Winchester. Stubborn ass of a man's man.

"We do not _tickle_!" he points an insistent finger at Cas.

Cas' eyebrows furrow even more. "I don't think I understand... What would you call the game we play sometimes, after we make love -"

Dean's face goes red as Sam makes a disgruntled sound. Dean splutters nonsensically. "We _fuck_. And men are not ticklish," Dean demands.

"That is absurd," Cas replies easily. Before Dean can blink he is right in front of him, reaching deftly toward his side - the sweet spot between Dean's ribs that Cas knows makes Dean fold up and grip him tight and smile despite himself. Dean nearly bends himself in half to shy away from Cas' fingers before he can make any of that rather embarrassing information known to Sam.

Dean slaps his hands away and glares at him. "Are you kidding!" he yells in both embarrassment and disbelief.

"You're theory is wrong Dean. I can prove it," Cas makes another move toward him, and Dean backs away clumsily, folding himself in a ridiculous fashion as if to hide more of himself from Cas' view. But Cas is not discouraged. He merely crowds Dean and reaches for him and the two start a ludicrous dance of contortion and reaching until Dean is twitchily holding Cas' wrists to keep his torturous hands away and muttering a ridiculous string of _Stop, Cas stop,_ and _Cas - Cas, don't _and _For fuck's sake - not right now!_. And it is all too clear to Sam how much they actually do cuddle and tickle and play little lovers' games. And he can't help but feel that the entire point of this conversation has gone out the window.

"Wow, I am really sorry I said anything. This is so much worse." Shaking his head, he grabs his jacket and leaves.

As they hear the door close, Dean turns livid green eyes on Castiel.

Cas can't entirely hide the smugness of his shadow of a smile. "You look angry," he says innocently.

"Don't play dumb with me, you know exactly why I'm pissed!"

Cas full-out smiles and Dean's rage dissipates at the beautiful rarity, though he tries to maintain the image of anger. Cas takes a step toward him and whispers, "Yes. But I know how to make you laugh again."


	21. U

Under

Castiel tells Dean that he hides his light under a bushel. Dean responds crisply that he doesn't have any bushels to speak of. Castiel responds, a bit piqued, that the bushel is a metaphor. Dean laughs it off, fearing that Castiel will do his thing, and become overly literal. He thinks, for a moment, that Castiel is going to say something blatant to him. Something honest enough to make Dean uncomfortable.

But he doesn't.

Dean is both relieved and kind of saddened all at once. He wants to reprimand the part of him that wants so desperately for Cas to say, outright, what is good about Dean. Because honestly, sometimes it gets difficult for Dean to remember.

It isn't until much later, when Castiel is lying fully-clothed and straight as a board on their motel bed (as he does when he is thinking and giving the poor illusion of relaxation) that Dean musters the courage to say, "What they Hell is this light, anyway?"

Castiel smiles vaguely, and he does _that_ sometimes too - like Dean's just done something he expected or predicted, and he is amused by his own correctness.

"How should I know?" he deadpans. "You hide it away."

Dean flops down on the bed with irritation, "Under a _bushel_," he mocks. "Asshole," he mutters under his breath.

Castiel's smile widens. He rolls over and swiftly mounts him, straddling Dean easily, and looking down at him mirthfully as the man clumsily pretends to still be mad. It isn't as sexual as one might expect; they've been together long enough now, that there isn't the problem of constant arousal at the mere sight of each other to get in the way of them having quiet moments like this. Close, but still in control. Castiel can sit atop Dean comfortably, without a frantic need to touch him, but instead with an easy love that affords him touch without desperation.

Castiel brings his hands to the buttons of Dean's starched, white FBI dress shirt, loosing them indulgently slow. "You hide your body, under these clothes," he offers.

"That's sort of an epically round-about way of telling a guy he's hot, Cas," Dean argues, knowing that this isn't what Cas meant.

Cas only smiles again. He spreads the shirt open, laying his palms against the soft undershirt. "You hide your beauty," he says precisely.

Dean rolls his eyes.

"You are intelligent. Brave. Loyal. You are a good man, very special. And you hide it all... _underneath_."

Dean can't do anything but swallow, because he wants to joke it off, but he can't seem to. Castiel is staring down at where his hands are working, touching Dean in easy, soft strokes everywhere he can reach - his chest, shoulders, arms, up over his neck and cheeks.

"Under leather jackets, and handsome smiles, and jokes," Cas continues lightly.

And here's the feeling, the one Dean dreads, where Cas is being honest, and Dean feels naked. It hurts so good.

"But I see you," Cas says, finally looking Dean in the eyes. "I see your light."

Dean wants to say that he sees his too, but then they're kissing, and he's distracted by the addictive feeling of being underneath the solid weight of Castiel... Being completely under his spell.


	22. V

Volkswagen

Of all the times Dean's died, this is the most embarrassing.

A VW Rabbit? _Really_? A fucking _Rabbit_? Ugh, God - couldn't he at least get hit by something cool? Like a Dodge Dart? Or a monster truck? A fucking Volkswagen? Come on...

Maybe these shouldn't be his last thoughts, as he's lying there in the street with his broken ribs poking through his skin and scraping on the pavement with every labored breath, but oh well. He's probably bleeding in his brain anyway.

Fucking Rabbit-driving little bitch... She's gonna kill Dean fucking Winchester with _that_? He fought the Devil goddamnit!

Maybe it's his brain dying, or maybe he really does hear Cas' voice above him -

Oh shit... did he just go to Heaven...?

But then Dean lets out a startled yell because he can feel all his bones snap back into place, and his skin stitch back together in a blink, and suddenly everything is bright and clear. He looks up and sees... there's Castiel, leaning over him with his look of muted terror and concern, the sun bright behind his head.

Dean smirks, "Hey Cas."

Cas sighs heavily, jaw clenching, and rolls his eyes as he stands up. Dean gets up as well, brushing himself off and looking over his newly healed body. "Hey thanks, man. Right in the nick of time! I thought I was a goner."

And just like that, Castiel is livid. Dean can see it. There is nothing that makes him angrier faster than Dean downplaying his near-death experiences. Dean's knows Castiel can't help but think about what would've happened if he hadn't been fast enough, and about the pain Dean was in, the broken look of him splattered on the road.

"Stay here," Castiel commands gravely. And Dean agrees with a quiet _Uh oh_, because he knows that look. But he doesn't stay there like he said he would. He runs down the block, around the corner, to where he knows Castiel has chased the Rabbit, and when he turns the corner the last he sees of their monster...

Is Castiel standing in the middle of the street before the Rabbit as it revs to run him down, and then a deliberate swipe of the angel's hand, which sends the car crushing in upon itself as if imploding.

Dean can't help but let out an impressed whistle, because Castiel just crushed a fucking Volkswagen like a paper cup. If the damn Rabbit wasn't still smudged in his own blood, he might've even felt bad, as it careened through the street a lump of smoking metal.

There's one phenomenally _dead_ Rabbit.

That's all folks.


	23. W

_Say, where is all the graphic sex in this exercise?_

_Oh - woops... just found it._

* * *

Water

They are the only ones in this motel. Dean is well aware. Even the owner isn't around - she made it clear that tonight is her Bingo night and they weren't to start any mischief while she was gone, lest she come back with her shotgun cocked. But it feels nice to know they're alone. Almost like they have their own place. And it's a nice day to be all alone, because it's raining like it's the coming of the flood and Dean can't think of a better excuse for spending all day in bed.

But before he can suggest it, Castiel is at the sliding back door, stepping fully clothed out into the rain.

Dean jogs over to the doorway, calling after him. "Come on, Cas - hey! You're gonna get your feathers wet!" he teases.

But Castiel merely throws him a mischievous sideways glance and steps out onto the stone patio, completely exposed to the rain. Dean watches from the safety of the doorway as Cas tilts his face toward the sky - he is soaked in moments, and appears to be very at ease with the fact, a little smile on his lips. Something simple and appreciative.

Dean can do nothing but watch, entirely captivated by this ever-surprising creature he appears to be spending his life with.

Cas turns his smile toward him and slips off his trench, letting it puddle on the patio without a glance - his eyes never leave Dean's. Dean's eyebrows raise up as he watches the angel then loose his belt, the rain soaking through the white dress shirt leaving it translucent and clingy. Castiel drops his slacks, stepping out of them and his footwear easily, leaving him in his underwear and a soaked-through dress shirt, outside... in relative public...

Dean erupts with a laugh if only because he is at a loss for words.

"Cas - what... what the Hell are you doing?"

The angel turns to him with a wider smile, his tie loosed and already almost done with his shirt buttons. He stops when it is undone and pauses to watch Dean look him up and down. Castiel runs his hands through his soaking hair to move it off his forehead.

It makes Dean's breath hitch a bit. He feels warm inside, and it's not just lust from the sight of a dripping wet Castiel, it's a nostalgic wild and _free_ feeling that he hasn't experienced in years. When he was younger, before everything got heavy and the world was on his shoulders, he used to be spontaneous and fun. Cas knows that somewhere deep, Dean's missed it, missed the lighter, quick to laugh, 'oh Dean, you're so crazy' version of himself.

Dean loves him unmeasurably in this moment for bringing that feeling back.

Dean shakes his head with a smile as he pulls off his boots and socks, his shirt, and then his jeans, leaving them safely in a dry pile by the door. Cas strips off his tie and shirt, letting them drop. Dean steps out into the rain in only his briefs, and revels in the wild feeling of letting the rain have him with no fight on his part. He goes to hold Castiel, but the angel moves away, teasingly, leading the man toward the pool. When they reach the edge, Castiel leans in as if to kiss Dean, but mere millimeters aways, when Dean has already closed his eyes in anticipation, he suddenly pulls away and jumps into the pool. Dean's eyes open as he hears the splash and looks over through the downpour to see Castiel treading water, smirking at him. Dean gives him a challenging look, before jumping in after him, chasing him down through the water, and grabbing him at the waist. He pins him back against the wall of the pool, Castiel wrapping his buoyant legs around his waist. Dean kisses him hard and insistent, and Castiel pulls down Dean's underwear unforgivingly, Dean stepping out of them and Castiel throwing the soaking things over his shoulder. They land with a wet slap against the pavement and Dean can't help but giggle like a fifteen year old. Dean all but rips Castiel's off and does the same.

Dean is already hard, and they don't waste any time. Castiel likes it that way sometimes - no preparation. It isn't as though Dean can hurt him.

Dean pushes in, one resistant inch at a time, the going slow and tight from lack of time spent easing him open beforehand. Cas feels incredible, so impossibly hot after the cool water. Dean swells inside of him, having been thwarted minutely by the chilliness of the water, and Castiel groans against his lips.

His eyes close and he smiles, and Dean loves when he looks like this, like they are all there is, like he hasn't made the worst mistakes and doesn't have millennia of weight on his shoulders. Just _Cas_, simplified, loving the way Dean feels inside of him. This is what they can do for each other.

Rainwater slides down their faces, down their necks and splats melodically into he water around them. Castiel moans as Dean's hands scrabble for purchase against the pool's edge and he thrusts into him, causing a ripple of water to splash up against the wall and out onto the cement with a smack.

Castiel is light in the water, and Dean doesn't have to hold him up to keep him wrapped around his waist, so he can use his arms and legs against the pool's wall for leverage, to fight against the water's weightlessness and lean into Castiel with some force. His body is like a vice, unbelievably tight, and Dean's lips tremble as he breathes against Cas' shoulder.

It's so good... too good.

Castiel spreads water up Dean's back and sides with his hands, cooling him down, touching his palms to the wet skin of Dean's shoulders and up into his dripping hair, smoothing it back off his forehead. He tilts his head back to feel the rain on his face, to concentrate on everything he feels. Dean is perfect inside of him, and Castiel could have come, from the overload of sensation, the moment Dean touched him. He's been holding off since the first tight press inward.

When Dean pulls Cas' body flush to his with a tight hold on his hips, and he sinks in deeper, bottoming out. Castiel shakes and jerks, and Dean can't feel it with the water between them, but he knows Cas is coming.

It takes Dean a little while longer, and he takes his time, keeping it slow and deep and even, because he knows Cas doesn't mind - the angel resting back against the pool wall, letting the water hold him, keeping his arms floating strait out beside him.

Dean looks him over, the beads of water gathering and sliding over his skin. Castiel, communing with nature and the elements, is something to behold.

He is beautiful.

His eyes are closed and he is completely limp, letting out little whimpers as Dean fucks into him slowly. When Dean finally comes it is slow and drawn out, where it is usually a brilliant explosion, a frenzied passion. Now it is a slow burn, a building brilliance. And he finds himself awed by the awareness he maintains, how much he really _feels_ it. He isn't sure if he really says a breathless _Wow_ out loud, but when Cas gives a giddy chuckle, he can't help it and laughs too. He kisses Castiel's rainwater lips and hears the angel's contented hum.

When they finally get chilled they go inside they take a hot shower, and having worked up an appetite, venture out into the now light drizzle and head to the local steakhouse.

They're both stupidly relaxed, and when their drinks come Castiel watches a bead of condensation slide down the glass, and he touches his finger to it, a smooth smile spreading across his face.

Dean sees it, and smiles too.

* * *

_Well...that just happened..._

_So much for "a couple hundred words"._


	24. X

_This could have gone in a really different direction (like remove the 'y' in 'x-ray' and replace it with a 'ted'), but I chose to keep it short and sweet._

_Weirdly, this is like the only Cas POV one... Huh._

* * *

X-Rays

Of course Castiel doesn't need an x-ray to see Dean's bones, he's fully capable of doing so on his own. But still, it is unusual to possess a tangible black and white printout of one's love's skeletal system.

It is strange to see Dean boiled down to the science that makes him up. Castiel finds, in that moment, that it is utterly impossible for him to think of Dean like that comfortably. He can no longer be objective in the way he used to be. This picture shows him the architecture of Dean's body, but it could be anyone. It doesn't tell anything of the fact that these very pieces were remade by Castiel himself. Nor does it reflect that Dean is a doting brother, a dutiful son, and a hero. These are just bones, and no doctor could see from their visage that Dean has put his very body on the line for the rescue of others, of _all_ others. Though Castiel is sure they can see the scarring of fractures on his ribs from when he'd battled Demons. And the nick where he'd been thrown through french doors and landed on a table's edge.

But those are abstract. They don't tell who Dean is. And Castiel thinks with a sigh about all of the trauma that would be written on Dean's bones had he not rebuilt him into pristine condition after Hell, and then healed him completely again on the day he stopped the apocalypse.

_Those_ bones, he is sure, would tell a hell of a story.


	25. Y

Yes

It's a simple word, really. Simple enough that it alone can allow Satan to enter his brother's meat-suit. But Dean tries not to think about that. It's the word now, that will decide his fate too.

The trials are over. Bobby is dead. Kevin is dead. Charlie is far away, thank God. And Sam is... Sam is...

It's taken its toll.

Dean's asked Cas to stay. He's asked him to give up his plans for the future, or rather his lack thereof, to plan to be with him. Dean wants it, with startling need. He cannot stand the thought of Cas just... going. After everything. After they've finally come to know each other again. So he does the hard thing, and asks Cas to stay.

Dean feels good about it, as terrifying as it is; he thinks they've been waiting all this time for him to build up the courage to ask, to admit, that he wants him. But now he's standing here, with the proposition hanging between them, and Cas looking utterly torn. Panicked. As though he never expected to hear such a thing, and therefore is entirely overwhelmed and unprepared.

Dean can see that the word is hard for him to say, even though somehow, he _knows_ Cas wants to say it.

"Do you love me, Cas?" Dean asks, knowing he does. "I mean, do you wanna be with me?" Doubt is starting to get the better of him at the angel's deafening silence.

Castiel's panicked eyes dart to his, as if startled by the question. And Dean is certain there is going to be a "_yes, __**but**__"_ and then a very rapid disappearance.

But Castiel surprises him. His face goes smooth and resolved, his eyes glint, and he smiles at Dean as if he hasn't realized until right now how easy the truth truly is. How simple the equation has become. How easy it is to just say it, the one word, and seal the deal.

"Yes."


	26. Z

Zeal

Never let it be said that Castiel, formerly seen as stoic and "junkless", has proven to be such in practice. Castiel is an extremely... _zealous_ lover.

When Dean thinks back to when they first met, sometimes he has to shake his head and laugh. What a condescending asshole he thought Cas was. Sterile and utterly inhuman. Unfeeling.

The angel was smirking but not really smiling, claiming to know Dean as well if not better than he did himself, possessing of a human body but not a mortal man... All things that, now, Dean greatly enjoys.

Back then Dean would have thought that Castiel would be blushing and virginal and clumsy. Awkward and difficult to get started. Stuttering and blunt and completely lacking in sensuality, smoothness or naughty initiative.

Entirely incorrect.

Castiel nearly killed Dean that first time they got naked. His enthusiasm was like that of a dam undone. And much to Dean's surprise, he knew _exactly_ what he was doing. He wasn't careful or blushing or nervous. He wasn't clumsy and clueless like he was when he tried to act like a human, but deft like he was in battle. Driven with purpose and precision. He was damn near rough, and demanding. And Dean loved every second of it. Cas was friggin' _motivated_. That angel was gonna get his cherry popped and no one was gonna stop him. He ripped Dean's clothes off (literally, into shreds), threw him down, and was entirely, freakishly competent in the area of arousal. Every second was a delicious surprise, completely _lacking_ in hesitance. Castiel had barely used a fraction of the knowledge Dean has no doubt he's filed away over a millennium of careful observation of humanity, and Dean was shamefully close to begging. Sputtering out a _holy shit_ or a surprised_ oh my God_ or the like every few minutes.

When Cas finally sank down onto Dean, the ghost of a smirk on his face, so satisfied, as if he knew exactly what he'd waited so long for and was so fucking pleased to finally get it, well that drew a groan from Dean the volume of which he will deny to this day. And Castiel rode him like he was a fucking pro. He took everything he wanted, and gave like no one else could. He blew Dean's mind, and then blew his load all over Dean's chest.

Dean didn't even have time to catch his breath before Cas was making happy sounds into his mouth, the angel kissing him like he hadn't had nearly enough.

And then he was ready again.

And again...

And one more time, in which Dean mostly begged to be finished because it was so good, too good, and his meagre human synapses were entirely fried - not to mention he was concerned he may never walk right again.

But there is no such thing as laziness in Castiel's bedroom etiquette. He does the damn thing the best he could, every time, giving it everything, and enjoying the hell out of it. He took to sex like it was an olympic sport and he'd been training for a thousand years to win the gold.

Dean has never been so happy to have read someone wrong. Castiel's efforts are borderline deadly, but God _damn_ will Dean die with a smile on his face...

But Castiel doesn't just fuck Dean better than anyone, he loves him. He does so with the same zeal with which he beds him - ruining him for all others, who would pale in comparison to Castiel's passion for Dean and proficiency at _knowing_ him.

His love for Dean is infinite and brain-scrambling and powerful enough to break Dean down into a naked, vulnerable, _feeling_ thing that knows for the first time how much he is worth to someone else.

Dean loves him back equally as fiercely. Like he's never loved anyone else. He touches Castiel like he's friggin' new at this - unrestrained, like he can't get enough, like he's terrified and ecstatic because he doesn't know what he's going to feel next. And lets Castiel know him, and begs to know him right back.

Dean's always been good at this, the physical part. He knows he has. But Cas brings him to another level, because for all the excitement and swagger he's possessed over the years, it pales in comparison to the true passion that he has for Cas.

To hold back now would be unbearable. To love anyone else, would be to love with a fraction of the passion he possesses, and would be unthinkable. He's found the be-all and end-all of his previously guarded heart in the form of an imperfect angel.

* * *

_Ta da! Today's chapter was brought to you by the letter Z. And with that, the challenge is complete!_

_Thanks so much for the amazing support on this little exercise of mine! You guys are really awesome to review so much, and so lovingly. I really, truly appreciate it! And I hope you liked the last chapter. _

_MUCH LOVE!_


End file.
